


Dancing around

by Lothiriel84



Category: The Mentalist
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-08
Updated: 2012-06-08
Packaged: 2017-11-07 07:04:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/428259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lothiriel84/pseuds/Lothiriel84
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"For years they had gone on simply ignoring the whole thing. They just danced around it – always the closest to each other they could get without actually touching. Now the music was over. The time had come for them to know exactly where they stood about this." - Set after the season finale, though there's only a slight reference to it...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dancing around

For years they had gone on simply ignoring the whole thing. They just danced around it – always the closest to each other they could get without actually touching. Now the music was over. The time had come for them to know exactly where they stood about this.

Red John was finally gone. He could hardly believe it.

What was he supposed to do now?

It hadn't been much of a surprise that Lisbon had taken him under her wing right from the start. She was the mother hen type after all, he had guessed that much at a glance.

He had always known that she cared for him, though he had never stopped to analyze the fact.

She never gave up on him even once – kept on backing him up and going along with his wild plans. Willing to risk her career – even her own life – for his sake.

Admittedly he cared for her too. He'd killed Hardy in order to save her, though the man had been his only link to Red John at the time.

When the _love you_ words escaped from his lips he'd probably been more surprised than Teresa herself. For he didn't know he was in love with her.

All right, maybe he _did_ know – it was just that his mind hadn't been able to acknowledge the fact. He wasn't ready to admit such a thing there and then. It had simply slipped out in the heat of the moment.

No wonder that he would later deny remembering what he'd said.

And now… could he really go on pretending so? Didn't he owe Teresa the truth, after all they'd been through together?

Question was – what was the truth anyway?

Did he really love her? And how would she feel about that?

He had a suspicion that she wouldn't say _no_ even this once. So he had to be very sure about his own feelings before bringing up the subject again.

With a sigh he laid the bunch of red roses in front of the two plain tombstones.

Of course he wasn't here to ask for _their_ permission… no, nothing of the kind.

He had come in order to bid them farewell. And maybe even to clear his mind about his past, present and future.

Surely he could use that.

Memories of his long-lost family flooded through his brain. Angela dancing on the sand in front of their house. Charlotte paddling along the seashore – squealing in delight as the water splashed all around her.

He and Angela kissing in the warm sand after the sunset.

She'd been his first love. He still loved her so much.

Did he feel the same about Teresa as well?

No, he didn't – he had to admit a moment later. What he felt for his Lisbon was entirely different.

With Angela he'd been so very young and carefree. No way this was going to happen again – not after all he'd been through.

Teresa was his only lifeline now. She was the one who constantly protected him – though he sometimes wished it could be otherwise.

For he _did_ want to protect her as well. He wanted to make her happy, to spare her any pain.

His strong, stubborn, loyal, adorable agent Lisbon…

As he walked out of the cemetery he flipped his cellphone open.

Couldn't wait to hear her lovely voice again.

"Honey, we have to talk."

He smiled as an astounded silence was her only reaction to the term of endearment he'd just used.

Well, she would have to get used to this – that was all…


End file.
